


Noel

by meetmeatthecoda



Series: Facets [3]
Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-09-22 17:56:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17064398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meetmeatthecoda/pseuds/meetmeatthecoda
Summary: A special holiday edition of the Facets series. Festive winter prompts from tumblr. Each chapter is a new prompt. Content will vary but ratings should all be T and under. All Lizzington.





	1. Chapter 1

**8\. Why is there a stocking with my name on it above the fireplace?**

_It’s the most wonderful time of the year_ , Liz thinks scathingly. _Yeah, right._

She’s sitting here in her ratty, old sweatpants in an empty, undecorated house, nursing a too-small glass of wine on Christmas Eve. 

And she’s never been more miserable. 

It’s Liz’s first Christmas without both Sam and Tom and she didn’t expect it to be this hard. She was nothing but optimistic back in September when she bought a new house, one without depressing memories of Tom and their fake life, planning on decorating and having a quiet holiday celebration come December as an independent, single woman.

But then a chill entered the air and familiar songs started to play on the radio and she felt herself descending into a sad stupor, heavy and pressing, like bricks tied to her feet, weighing her down. 

She has yet to surface.

Liz feels perfectly justified in mourning her father’s passing at the holidays, that is only to be expected and she misses him dearly, but she feels a certain self-loathing deep inside her about missing Tom. 

She doesn’t miss the actual person, of course, Tom, Jacob, whoever he was. The sting of betrayal runs far too deep for that. But she misses the illusion of Tom, the memories, the comforting presence of another person to share the holiday cheer with. 

(She’s never been this alone on Christmas.)

And Liz is feeling that absence the most right now, on Christmas Eve, sitting here sad and not nearly drunk enough.

But then her phone rings.

Liz frowns. Clearly, she has nobody, so who the hell would be calling her on Christmas Eve? She snatches up her phone, glances at the screen, and then almost throws it through the front window. 

_Nick’s Pizza._

What could he possibly want that can’t wait until after the holiday, for God’s sake? Why can’t he just let her alone to wallow in peace? Liz growls to herself as the phone rings for the fifth time, showing no signs of stopping. Liz throws back a mouthful of wine, knowing she’ll need it, and jabs the ‘accept’ button. 

“ _What?_ ”

“Well, good evening, Elizabeth. Merry Christmas. How are you?”

“Red, I’m _not_ in the mood. What do you want?”

“I see. Well, since we’re getting straight to the point, we need to meet. I have important information regarding the newest blacklister.”

Liz grinds her teeth. “And I’m sure there’s no way this can wait until, oh, I don’t know, after Christmas?”

“No, I’m afraid not, Lizzie. When can you get here?”

Liz closes her eyes, feeling perilously close to angry tears. “And you expect me to drive all the way to the outer boroughs on _Christmas Eve_ like a f–”

“We’ve actually relocated, Lizzie, thank you for reminding me,” he interrupts her tirade smoothly, stopping her before she can really get going. 

“Oh,” she mutters, and listens as he gives her an address that’s only about twenty minutes away, as opposed to the hour and a half from the city he was yesterday. “Fine. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

“Wonderful,” he says happily. “I’ll see you soon then?”

Liz hangs up on him.

* * *

After throwing a pair of jeans and a sweater, keeping up a running commentary of curses all the while, Liz is bundling up in her outerwear and climbing into her cold car, not bothering to let it warm up before she’s setting off for Red’s questionably obtained safehouse.

It's not until she's throwing the car in park that she manages to remove most of the scowl from her face, trying for a work-appropriate, no-nonsense look instead. She doesn't think it works but she doesn't care enough to pull down the small car mirror and work on it.

(She is already missing her bland, thoughtless state of vegetation in her apartment, complete with wine. Lots of it.)

Liz makes a point to slam her car door shut, trying to get some of her aggression out now so she doesn't murder the FBI's fourth most-wanted on Christmas Eve. She stomps up to the front door of the large, admittedly pretty house, and takes a deep breath of the cold winter air before knocking forcefully on the door.

She doesn’t have to wait long.

It swings open almost immediately to reveal not Dembe, as Liz had expected, but Red, clad in a festive red apron.

She blinks, a little of her anger fading in her surprise.

“Lizzie! Come in, please, and make yourself at home! I'll just be a moment in the kitchen!”

And he's turning around and hurrying off, leaving the door wide open with her standing there.

Okay.

Liz is mildly curious now and the warm air wafting out of the house is too enticing to resist. So, she steps inside and closes the door behind her.

After being enveloped by the heat in the house, a warmth so encompassing that she’s quickly shedding her coat and draping it over a nearby chair, the next thing she registers is the mixture of smells. She easily identifies hot chocolate, eggnog, and gingerbread.

(It smells like Christmas.)

“Red?” she calls out, feeling a little confused and overwhelmed.

“In the kitchen, Lizzie!” he repeats.

That's not exactly helpful, as she has no idea where the kitchen is, but she wanders forward anyway, following the lovely smells and the sound of Red’s voice.

Liz turns left off the entranceway on a hunch and spots him, busy taking a tray of what looks like beautifully decorated gingerbread cookies out of the oven and sliding them off onto a wire baking rack to cool.

Well, that explains the apron. 

Liz stands there, brimming with questions, but decides to start with the first one that occurred to her and go from there.

“Where's Dembe, Red?”

“Why, with his family, of course, Lizzie. You don't think I'd keep the poor man away from his loved ones at Christmas, do you?”

Liz frowns. “I didn't know he had a family,” she states simply.

(That’s not exactly true. The first response that leapt to her lips was that she thought Red was his only family, but something stopped her from saying that.)

“Oh, yes,” Red continues, finishing with the cookies and turning to a large pot on the stove and stirring the contents. “He likes to go stay with his daughter for Christmas. She's a lovely young woman, Isabella is her name. Would you like some hot chocolate, Lizzie?”

“Oh, um –” but he's already grabbing two mugs from a cabinet and pouring. 

“Marshmallows or whipped cream?” he asks, actually pausing to turn this time, looking at her expectantly.

She blinks at him for a moment.

“Marshmallows,” she says eventually, and he nods happily, taking a bowl from the counter and scooping several small white blobs into one of the mugs. 

He hands her the mug before moving to the fridge and retrieving a can of whipped cream, shaking it vigorously before putting a copious amount onto what she assumes is his mug of hot chocolate.

(In fact, she thinks he may have more whipped cream than actual liquid, which makes her lips quirk despite herself. Typical.)

Red smoothly removes his apron, revealing a lovely, gray vest underneath, and hangs it on a high kitchen chair before picking up his mug and turning to her.

“Would you like to go and sit in the living room?”

“Sure,” she says, still feeling a little flustered at the bright, holiday cheer that is permeating this house, so unlike her dark, quiet one.

Red nods, pleased, smiling happily at her and placing a gentle hand on the small of her back to lead her out of the kitchen and back down the hallway to the front living room.

(She can feel the heat of his hand through her sweater.)

As they enter the room, the sheer spectacle of it takes Liz's breath away.

Because there is a huge tree standing proud in front of the picture window in the living room, decorated to breaking point with lights, ornaments, garland, and a twinkling star on top. The fresh scent of pine hits Liz and mingles perfectly with the smell of food in the air. More lights, red and green, are strung above the windows, blinking cheerfully at her, with the pretty white drapes below pulled shut against the cold winter air.

Liz’s awed gaze moves, with considerable difficulty, to the fireplace, which has multiple Father Christmas’s sitting happily atop the mantle, a mere decoration to the three beautiful stockings hanging from the edge. 

Liz frowns for a moment, craning her neck to peer at them. Why are there three and why does the one in the middle look strangely familiar – 

She gasps, a hand flying to her mouth. 

“Red,” she breathes. “Why is there a stocking with my name on it above the fireplace?”

Liz turns to look at him, eyes wide and pleading, feeling her throat tighten as she stares at his face, watching his expression melt into something far more tender than she can handle right now. 

“You didn’t think I’d let you spend Christmas alone, did you, Lizzie?”

And those words of his break some dam inside of her and she’s bursting into tears, completely hysterical within seconds, all of the sadness and loneliness finally boiling over and breaking free. 

To his credit, Red stays completely calm, perhaps after an initial moment or two of surprise, and quickly jumps into action, taking her mug of hot chocolate and setting it aside on the coffee table before gently steering her to the couch, where he effortlessly pulls her into his side and she goes without protest, so happy to have someone to lean on, figuratively, literally, finally.

She’s not sure how long she cries into his shoulder, mourning for the loss of all she had this time last year, but she thinks it’s probably long enough that she should be embarrassed. However, she feels no shame inside her when she finally calms, coming back to herself with the feeling of his hand rubbing her back and his kisses pressed into her hair. She can only identify an odd sort of relief at having expressed her feelings and a resulting bone-deep exhaustion.

It takes her a moment, as she’s focusing on slowing her breathing, before she becomes aware of Red speaking softly to her, quiet words that she clings to.

“…that’s it, it’s all right, Lizzie…let it out, sweetheart…I know you’ve been struggling…you tried to hide it but I can see…I know you miss Sam…I do too, Lizzie, and I wish more than anything I could bring him back for you…it’s okay, Lizzie…just breath, sweetheart, I’m here…”

Liz gives a weak sniffle and tentatively reaches out to place a hand on his knee, a signal to let him know she’s okay now. She slowly begins to sit up but stays close, remaining pressed against his side, but now sitting up independently, no longer leaning against him for support. She uses her sleeve to dab at her eyes uselessly, feeling Red looking at her with concern.

“I’m sorry about that,” she whispers, her voice weak from crying. “It’s been…festering.”

Red just nods sympathetically. 

(The understanding in his eyes warms her more than hot chocolate ever could.)

Liz takes another moment to gather her bearings with Red absently rubbing her arm. Only one thing is still nagging at her.

“Red, how did you get my childhood stocking here?”

He’s silent for a moment before answering, his voice quiet but deep and heartfelt. “I found the box marked ‘Christmas decorations’ in your storage unit. I decided to take the liberty. I knew it was a risk and you might be angry with me, but I had a feeling you would…need some cheering up.”

Liz nods slowly. “I’m not angry,” she says after a moment, waiting to make sure it’s true. “But how did you know that I was…in a rough place?”

“It takes one to know one, Lizzie,” he says simply, and Liz turns to look at him and she feels sure that the sad smile he gives her would have knocked her off her feet, if she had been standing. 

Of course. Christmas is hard for him too. 

The thought of what he’s lost brings a fresh wave of tears, the renewed wetness making her sore eyes sting. He’s lost so much more than her, and in a much more horrible way, and yet here he is decorating and cooking just to make her happy. 

(He is the most selfless man she’s ever known.) 

Her lip trembles as they gaze at each other, already pressed close on the couch, and it’s absolutely nothing to move forward, place a steadying hand on his chest, and press her lips gently to his. He hums in surprise and brings a hand up to her face, one of his thumbs brushing over her cheek as gently as his lips caress hers.

It’s not a long kiss, and she makes it a little wet with her tears, but it’s heartrendingly sweet and so perfect. Liz pulls back just enough to press her forehead to his, opening her eyes to see she managed to transfer one of her tears to his cheek. 

A mirror image.

(They are more similar than she knows.)

She wicks it away with a thumb.

“Why didn’t you just tell me about all this? Why the blacklister pretense?”

Red’s mouth twitches. “Would you have come here tonight if it wasn’t for work?”

She feels her cheeks flush. “No, I guess not.” They share a quiet chuckle, still pressed close together, their shared warmth a wonderful thing glowing between them. “Is that why you moved to a closer safehouse too?”

He simply inclines his head and she sighs, her aching eyes closing as she feels shame and gratefulness wash over her in waves.

“Red…”

“I wanted to, Lizzie,” he speaks quietly before she can say anything. “I’m well accustomed to my grief. The weight of it is…familiar. But it’s brand new for you, overwhelming and suffocating. I want to help lighten the load, in any way I can. I know you feel alone but…for what it’s worth, I care.”

More tears spill over her cheeks. “Thank you,” she simply breathes, completely at a loss of what else she could possibly say.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her cheek, smoothing her hair under his hand, tucking her into his side.

(She has a feeling she’s not going anywhere anytime soon. She doesn’t have to be alone on this Christmas. And neither does he.)

“Merry Christmas, Lizzie.”

“Merry Christmas, Red.”


	2. Chapter 2

**12\. Why did you get this for me?**

Liz closes the door to her apartment, her eyes drooping shut as she shuffles inside. She drops her bag somewhere near the table meant to hold all her going-out essentials and peels her coat and scarf off, aiming for the chair next to the table but missing entirely. She stares at the pile of outerwear on the floor for a moment before shrugging carelessly and heading towards the living room.

She can’t wait to climb into bed and sleep.

It’s Christmas Eve tonight but the only evidence of that in her apartment is a sparsely decorated tree, sitting sadly in the corner of her living room. She glances briefly at it as she passes. With no one to celebrate with and no one to buy gifts for, she didn’t see much point in getting any –

Liz stops short, doing a double take as she spies something under the tree.

Something she didn’t put there.

A present.

Liz frowns and moves cautiously over to the tree, peering at the small, beautifully wrapped box to see a sticker addressed in red pen:

_To: Lizzie_

_From: Red_

Liz’s huffs out an incredulous laugh. When the hell did Red break into her apartment to leave this here? She shakes her head fondly. She shouldn’t be surprised, the man’s never understood the concept of personal space.

Figuring that she has nothing to lose – and knowing that this is the only thing she’ll have to unwrap this Christmas – Liz picks up the box and tears off the paper, removing the lid to see –

Liz’s mouth drops open.

It’s a delicate bottle of perfume. But not just any perfume. Liz’s favorite perfume. The perfume from that fancy French store in the inner city that she could never afford. The perfume that she was admiring two weeks ago as she stood outside the store with Red, waiting for another one of his tardy contacts.

Liz feels her eyes fill with tears. She hadn’t even said anything to him, just glanced at the bottle through the window a few times. Ridiculously observant man.

Liz sit heavily on her couch, trying to tear her eyes away from the gorgeous bottle, and digs her cell phone out of her pocket, fumbling to dial Red’s number.

“Merry Christmas, Lizzie,” he answers on the second ring.

“Same to you, Red,” she says, smiling to herself. “Say, I found something rather curious under my Christmas tree. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Certainly not,” he responds, so much false bravado in his voice that she has to cover her mouth to keep from giggling. “After your rather stern lecture on the importance of respecting privacy, I would never dream of breaking into your apartment again, even to leave a gift.”

Liz gives in and laughs softly for a moment, pinching the bridge of her nose, and she can hear him chuckling with her on the other end of the line. There is a quiet moment between them before she speaks again, soft but insistent.

“Why did you get this for me, Red?”

For a moment, all she hears is his breathing. Then he says, “Because you never would have bought it for yourself. And you deserve the best in life, Lizzie, I’ve told you before.” He pauses for a heartbeat. “And I’ll keep telling you until you believe it.”

Liz feels her throat tighten and she squeezes her eyes shut.

(Sweet, sweet man.)

“Thank you, Red,” she says simply, knowing he won’t except anything more.

“You’re welcome, Lizzie,” Red says softly.

She thinks for a moment. “Can I call you tomorrow? Even though it’s Christmas…I just thought…maybe we could chat for a while?”

“Of course,” Red says quickly. “I’d like that very much.”

“Good,” Liz murmurs.

“Although I think you mean today,” he says, talking louder now, bringing the intimate moment they shared to a natural close. “It’s past twelve already.”

Liz glances at the clock. “So it is. I’ll talk to you later today then. Merry Christmas, Red.”

“Merry Christmas, Lizzie.”

And, feeling excited for Christmas morning for the first time in a long time, Liz hangs up and heads to bed. But not before carefully placing her new bottle of perfume on her bedside table where she can admire it as she falls asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**27\. I got you something…**

“…and it truly can’t be understated, Lizzie, how absolutely necessary it is to see the Eiffel Tower lit up at night. It’s a glorious sight, pictures don’t do it justice. I remember one time when…”

Red’s sitting on a park bench with Lizzie, the cold December air nipping at their uncovered noses and ears, and he’s rambling. He knows it and he’d love to stop but he just can’t seem to. Lizzie has been very quiet with him lately and he doesn’t know why, although he supposes she’s got plenty of reasons to be.

(He knows better than to ask which one it is today.)

But Red can’t help but feel uncomfortable by Lizzie’s silence around him. It makes him nervous and he feels compelled to fill it with inane chatter. And just in case she’s actually listening, he tries to save his best stories for the days when she’s acting the coldest towards him.

And today she could put Frosty the Snowman to shame.

“…but he really didn’t have a clue I was right behind him. He was a remarkably unobservant man, as it happens, and that was his greatest downfall, really. Otherwise I would never have been able to steal his baguette…”

Red glances hopefully at Lizzie out of the corner of his eye but she’s just staring out over the small lake in the center of the park with no visible indications that she’s listening. Paying him no attention. Completely ignoring him.

Red sighs.

(It hurts more than he’d like to admit.)

“Well, at any rate, I’ll be happy to return to Paris next week. It’s always the most beautiful at Christmas time. I’ll have to –”

But suddenly Lizzie is turning to look at him and, as usual, his heart stumbles at her sudden attention.

(Her blue eyes are truly disarming, especially when faced with them directly.)

“You mean, you won’t be in D.C. for Christmas?” she asks.

So, she was listening, at least selectively. Red has to fight a boyishly delighted grin.

“No, I won’t,” he responds, wondering why she chose to comment on this particular detail. “The team will be off work for a few days, so I don’t think I’ll be missed. Why, is that a problem?”

“Well, no…” but she says it hesitantly and quirks her mouth in that familiar way that tells Red she’s disappointed. “It’s just that…well, I got you something. And I wanted to give it to you on Christmas.”

Red blinks, completely taken aback. “Oh,” he says, not able to contain his surprise. “Well, I can certainly delay my trip if you –”

“No, no,” Lizzie is shaking her head. “It’s just a little thing, don’t miss out on Paris on my account. I’ll bring it to work tomorrow instead.”

With that, she stands from their bench, and he watches her stretch a little before she pulls her coat more tightly around herself.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fine,” she says easily, waving a hand. “Who knows, you might actually have a use for it in Paris,” and she gives him a little smile that only serves to make him curious.

(And warm his heart.)

“Well,” he stutters, speaking to her back as she starts to walk away. “What is it?”

The slight breeze brings her laugh back to him and she answers without turning around. “You’ll just have to wait and see! Oh, and Red?”

“Yes?”

“Work or no work, I’ll miss you,” and she says this as an aside, as if it’s nothing, as if it doesn’t completely make his Christmas. “See you tomorrow!”

“See you tomorrow,” he says, much too quietly for her to hear.

Well.

It seems that, against all odds, the Christmas season has thawed Lizzie a little after all.


	4. Chapter 4

**5\. I’m freezing, you’re warm. Hug me.**

“You know, Red, no matter how many times I try to wrap my head around it, I just can’t believe that you got us into this god damned mess!”

Personally, Red doesn’t think things are that bad.

“We drive out after dark to the middle of nowhere to meet one of your stupidly reclusive and paranoid associates only to have my car break down on the way back in an area with absolutely no cell phone reception. So, naturally, you and I are now walking along a deserted dirt road in the countryside hoping to stumble upon either someone to help us or the nearest cell tower. Oh, and it’s conveniently in the dead of winter!”

…Okay, when Lizzie puts it like that, things sound rather bad.

“I appreciate your frustration, Lizzie, but I’m not sure that every single one of our circumstances can be fairly traced back to me.”

He realizes a second too late how unwise it probably was to speak at all. She does have a gun, after all, and there’s lots of open space around where she can bury his body.

“Oh, really?” she shrieks rhetorically, throwing her hands into the air exasperatedly from where she’s stomping along the road a few steps ahead of him, making little clouds of dust explode under her feet every time she takes a step.

Well, he’s already opened his mouth. He might as well go all in and hope that he can ensure a quick death.

“Well, as a matter of fact, yes,” he continues, injecting a little false cheer into his voice. “I admit that I could have chosen a better time for us to visit Pablo, but he really does have a good reason to be wary of visitors. You see, when he was fifteen, he –”

Lizzie’s frustrated scream interrupts whatever pointless story he was about to tell her, and Red glances around nervously, hoping there’s no hungry wild life nearby that will come to investigate. But he doesn’t have a lot of time to worry about that because in the next instant, Lizzie stops in her tracks, making Red screech to a halt to avoid running into her –

And the next thing he knows she’s whirling around to face him, revealing an absolutely terrifying look on her face that tells him he doesn’t have to worry about any wildlife, he’ll be dead by Lizzie’s hand long before they can find him, and he doesn’t –

But then, too quickly for him to process, Lizzie is throwing her arms around him and squeezing him tightly.

Red blinks.

“Uh, Lizzie?” he asks hesitantly, staying completely still.

(Which is more difficult than he would have thought with her arms around him and her soft hair pressing against his cheek.)

“What?” she snaps, her irritation a little muffled by her face pressed into his thick coat.

“If you’re trying to smother me to death, I’m afraid it’s not working.”

“I’m not. Not yet, anyway,” she grumbles, but the warning in her voice is half-hearted.

“Oh,” says Red, pleasantly surprised that his death is not immediately impending. “Then what, if I may ask, are you doing?”

He can feel her annoyed huff against his shoulder before she speaks. “I’m freezing, you’re warm. Hug me.”

Oh.

Lizzie is asking for a hug?

( _Oh_.)

Red may be mildly suicidal but he’s not stupid. There’s no way on earth he’s going to ignore a direct, if begrudging, invitation to hug Lizzie. So, he wastes no time in wrapping his arms around her snugly, resting his cheek on the top of her head, and hoping he can lend her some body heat.

(He certainly feels as warm as the sun with her in his arms.)

She must feel his broad grin against her hair because she speaks again. “Don’t get used to this. As soon as we’re rescued, you’re dead meat, mister.”

Red’s smile only grows.

He would expect nothing less.


	5. Chapter 5

**23\. You don’t have to take care of me.**

A sense of pleasant warmth brings Liz to wakefulness, her eyes fluttering open to find herself exactly where she fell asleep, curled up on her living room couch. Except one thing is different.

She’s missing her pillow.

Liz takes a second to sit up, rubbing her eyes, and trying to clear her slightly blurry mind. As she moves, a thick blanket falls from her shoulder and settles on her lap.

She smiles to herself.

Liz glances around the room and notices the lamp is on its lowest setting, putting out just enough light to see by, but not enough that it blinds her sensitive eyes and makes her squint.

She shakes her head fondly.

“Good evening, sleepyhead,” says a wonderfully familiar voice.

And Liz turns to see Red walking towards her across the living room, holding a mug of something that is letting off enticing curls of steam into the air above.

“Good nap?” he questions lightly, sitting down next to her and offering her the mug.

“Lovely,” Liz answers, taking it and breathing the scent in deeply. “Thanks to you. And now hot chocolate?”

Red simply smiles adoringly at her and her heart warms in her chest in response.

(What would she do without him?)

“You don’t have to take care of me, you know,” she says, tilting her head and chastising lightly.

Red turns playfully serious in an instant, his brow furrowing and his lower lip pushing out as he nods very solemnly and pretends to consider her statement.

“That’s very true, Agent Keen,” he says earnestly, betraying his tone by reaching up to gently tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “But, consider this: what if I  _want to_?”

Liz reaches up to stroke his beloved face. “Well, then,” she says quietly. “I suppose I have no say in the matter,” and she smiles as Red turns his head to kiss her palm.

(She never wants to find out.)

So, since Red’s shoulder is back (the one he let her use as a pillow), Liz tucks the blanket (the one he covered her up with) around him as well, with only the dim light of the lamp (the one he turned down for her) to illuminate them, as they gaze at their beautifully lit and decorated Christmas tree.

And they settle down for a long winter’s nap.


	6. Chapter 6

**6\. There’s a snow storm. I guess we’re stuck in here together till it passes.**

The wind howls and the window panes rattle in their frames as Liz peers out of the cabin window into the night, the swirling blanket of snow the only thing visible in the darkness.

Liz heaves a sigh before turning around, her arms firmly crossed, to look at Red, who is leaning against the door frame staring at her.

“There’s a snow storm,” she states matter-of-factly. “I guess we’re stuck in here together till it passes.”

Red nods thoughtfully, his brow furrowed as he ponders. “And whatever shall we do in here to pass the time,” he asks slowly, pushing off the door frame to advance toward her. “ _Agent Keen_?” He stops right in front of her, bringing his arms up to box her in against the wall, his eyes dark with intent.

(Tempting.  _Extremely_  tempting.)

But Liz just laughs out loud, ducking easily under his arm to head for the couch. “Nice try,  _Mr. Reddington_ ,” she says mockingly.

His seductive expression melts in an instant and his eyes twinkle as he pouts playfully at her. “But why not, Lizzie?” he whines. “We’re stranded here all alone, what else are we supposed to do? Besides, we  _are_  dating so I believe rules are that we  _have_ to sleep together,” he straightens up as he says this, adopting a haughty air of authority.

“Oh, really,” drawls Liz skeptically, raising an eyebrow at him. “And whose rules are those, I wonder? Yours?”

“No,” he denies stubbornly, and she spies the corner of his mouth twitch in suppressed amusement. “Someone else’s, I’m sure.”

“Oh, I see,” she smirks at him, a hand on her hip. “Someone else’s. How convenient,” and he pouts at her long enough that she rolls her eyes and moves forward to grab his hand. “Oh, don’t give me that look. Come on, I know what we can do!”

“What?” he asks, his fake pout disappearing as his curiosity is peaked.

Liz pulls on Red’s hand to tug him towards the couch and he follows easily. She stoops to reach under the coffee table and grab something, freezing there and meeting Red’s eyes, drawing out the suspense, before she straightens up with a flourish and a triumphant –

“Ta-da! Monopoly!”

Red stares at her for a wordless moment before a delicious smirk takes over his face. “How about  _strip_  monopoly?”

Liz rolls her eyes with an exasperated laugh. “That’s not even a thing!”

Red pouts again, turning on the charm this time.

(Damn it. She can never resist that face and he knows it.)

She sighs heavily, as though put-upon.

“Fine.”

Red crows with delight and snags the box from her.

“Hey!” she protests. “I call dibs on the dog!”

“Oh, that’s fine, Lizzie. I’m  _always_ the hat.”


	7. Chapter 7

**29\. You look cold. Take my coat.**

Liz glances over at Red, standing next to her on the cold sidewalk waiting for Dembe to pick them up, as he clears his throat for the fifth time in as many minutes. He sneezed once about an hour ago and now his nose is looking a little pink and she’s officially worried. She knows he’s trying to get over a cold as she doesn’t want it to develop into pneumonia.

(For work related reasons obviously.)

After a brief moment’s thought, Liz starts to take off her coat.

Red looks at her like she’s crazy. “What are you doing, Lizzie?” he asks incredulously.

Liz quickly moves behind him to throw her coat over his shoulders. “You look cold. Take my coat.”

He looks completely shocked – and a little disbelieving at her sudden act of generosity, which she supposes she deserves, given her attitude lately – and he immediately starts to protest.

“Lizzie, it’s below freezing, you can’t possibly expect me to –”

“Just until Dembe gets here, Red,” she interrupts him smoothly. “Besides, I’m wearing a sweater in addition to my scarf and gloves. I’m fine.”

She stares him down until she sees him accept, his shoulders slumping in defeat while his eyes soften, saying something that he doesn’t have to voice.

(Thank you.)

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one offering you my coat?” he asks lightly after a moment, sniffling a little.

Liz shrugs. “I’ve never been very good with ‘supposed to be’”.

She grins at him, a little self-deprecating and a little apologetic, and he smiles back, a little amused and a little understanding.

(It’s the kind of moment they haven’t shared in a while.)

Liz breaks his gaze when headlights flash around the corner, signaling Dembe’s approach.

And her lips quirk as she has a thought.

“Besides, that shade of pink really brings out your eyes.”

“Very funny, Lizzie.”


End file.
